


Would You Run Away With Me?

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Abuse, Ed Driscoll's terrible parenting, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, First Love, Running Away, teenagers in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:00:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29002614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: In another world, Hannah chooses to let Nathan take her away from Haven. It's easier said than done.
Relationships: Duke Crocker & Nathan Wuornos, Hannah Driscoll & Duke Crocker, Hannah Driscoll/Nathan Wuornos
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	1. The Question

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! This has been sitting in my drafts forever as part of a larger fic that explores all the future ramifications of this. I've finally accepted that I'm probably not going to finish the larger story, but I think this still stands pretty well on its own. It should be three chapters, all of which are already finished; I'll try to get them up over the next few days.

It starts with a note, slipped into her hand at graduation.

_ 3 AM. Our spot.  _

She knows who it’s from, of course, even if she cannot imagine how he got it to her without her noticing. She only has a “spot” with one person, and regardless, his penmanship is… Unique. 

For a long time she just stands there, flipping the note over in her hand. The ink is fresh, but the index card is old. Faded. She absently wonders where he found it, or if it’s one of his. It’s not that she’s not tempted. Of course she is. But she can almost see her father's face, and her heart still aches from his shouts after prom. Would it really be worth it? 

On the other hand, she  _ misses  _ Nathan. They’ve hardly spoken since that fateful day, but whenever she looks up in class, he’s already watching her, maybe waiting for her to make the call. 

Apparently, he’s done waiting. 

He’s leaving soon. In just a few months, he’ll be away at college, and who knows what he’ll be like when he comes back? Four years is a long time, and he’ll be surrounded by girls who are brilliant. Lively. Not weighed down by Haven’s darkness, or a father’s rage. 

When they see each other next, he might be a virtual stranger, and the panic at that thought is enough to make her decision. If this is their last chance, she’s not about to let it pass. 

She waits until she’s sure her father is asleep, then slips down the stairs, carefully avoiding the squeakiest floorboards. It’s 2:30, so she’ll be cutting it close to make it on time, but she isn’t worried; Nathan will wait for her. He always does. 

It would be faster if she didn’t have to walk, but there’s no way she’s going to try to steal the keys to the truck. Besides, it’s easier to go unnoticed this way; she can stick to the dark shadows, and avoid eye contact with anyone who might recognize her. 

It’s 3:05 when she reaches the cliffs. He’s already there, of course, staring out at the sea. He hasn’t yet noticed her approaching, and his shoulders are slumped, weight of the world on them. As always. 

She knows in an instant that she made the right choice coming to meet him. “Fancy meeting you here,” she murmurs, and he freezes. Turns to look at her. 

In spite of the chilly night air, she’s nothing but warm at the way he lights up, any hint of darkness fading away at the sight of her. “You came.” His cheeks are suspiciously pink, and she knows it isn’t just the wind. “I wasn’t sure you’d…” 

He trails off, rising to his feet and stepping toward her. Hesitates. It’s clear he wants to reach for her, to pull her close to him, but he’s unsure. He doesn’t want to overstep, and guilt tugs at her. He deserves better than uncertainty, than her pulling away at every turn. Better than her ignoring him in the hallways, refusing to make eye contact. 

But if her father finds out… 

Forcing that thought from her mind, she closes the gap between them. It’s meant to be only a hug, a reassurance that she’s there with him, but he tilts his head down to hers. The second their lips meet, any lingering fears about what might happen vanish, and she tugs him even closer. 

This, here, is right. This is what home feels like. 

-

“What if we just… Left?” It’s an idle thought, but the moment it passes his lips, it sinks its claws into him and refuses to let go. 

After their kiss (or two, or three….) they’ve settled back onto the hill, staring up at the stars. His jacket makes a perfect blanket under them, and they’re close enough to touch, but for the most part, they haven’t. They haven’t spoken much, either, until now. But he wants to chase down this thought.

She rolls to face him, brows furrowed. “Left what? Haven?” 

“Yeah.” He cannot help but smile, the idea solidifying in his mind. “Just hopped on a boat and never looked back. I've got a friend who has one, and he’s leaving soon. We could go anywhere. Do anything we want.” He catches her hand with his, pressing a kiss to the back and warming when she smiles in response. “Just you and me.” 

For a moment, it seems like she’s considering it. Her eyes soften, a dreamy look settling in, and she brushes her thumb over his hand almost absently. Then, she swallows, pulling away. 

“We can’t.” 

He’s all too familiar with the pull of this town, with the weight of the expectations their fathers have placed on them. But just at the moment, he can’t bring himself to care. He isn’t his father. She  _ certainly  _ isn’t her father. They have their own futures, and for the first time, he lets himself imagine what it would be like to act like it. 

“Sure we can.” He aims for casual, trying to coax the dreamer in her out from behind the wall of responsibility coming up between them. “We could move to New York, or California, or… Bear Dance.” 

The last option stops her short, and he mentally pats himself on the back. She may not be agreeing to anything, but at least she’s too confused to say no. “Bear Dance?” 

“Mhmm.” He sits up without warning, tugging her with him. “It’s in Montana. Don’t really know much about it, but we could find out, if you want.” 

She laughs, maybe in spite of herself. “It sounds dangerous. Maybe we should stick to towns with more normal names.” 

It sounds like she’s acquiescing, but he knows her well enough to wait her out. She’s humoring him, for now, but if he can keep her on topic, he might be able to convince her. “New York, then?” 

“Too crowded.” 

Fair. He’s never been a big fan of crowds, but there is something appealing about the idea of a place big enough to get lost in. A town where your next-door neighbors don’t know every embarrassing thing you’ve done since you were five, and no one treats you like a weather vane, watching you to see when Trouble is coming. (He was one of the first, back when they were little. One of the first Troubled people to show signs. Deep down, he knows people still expect it to happen again, and he can’t help but worry that they’re right. No matter how much he tells himself that the Troubles were made up to frighten children, he’ll never forget not being able to feel. That doesn’t-shouldn’t-go away.) 

Still, maybe they don’t have to go to such an extreme. “What about Boston, then? I hear it’s nice out there. They have...” Come to think of it, he doesn’t know much about Boston. “... Pancakes. Probably.”

This pulls another laugh from her. “Probably?” She teases, shaking her head. “Maybe?” 

He takes a risk, drawing this back from the realm of jokes and dreaming. “Honestly, I don’t care much where we go… Long as you’re there with me.” 

It takes a few seconds for his words to register. He sees the exact moment they click, when her eyes widen and her smile softens. The cheesiness of the statement isn’t lost on him, but it’s  _ true,  _ and judging the look on her face, she doesn’t  _ mind,  _ so maybe some cheese is okay. 

“Nathan…” She breathes, leaning in, and he’s more than happy to meet her halfway. For several blissful seconds, he forgets all about Haven, about the Troubles, about controlling fathers and lost mothers. There is only her, and him, and the quiet of the wind. 

Then, a horn blares. 

They leap apart from each other, and he wonders how they didn’t hear a car pulling up, before his eyes land on the vehicle and his stomach drops.

Not a car.

A truck.

_ The Rev’s  _ truck. 

It’s now or never, he realizes. Her father hasn’t gotten out of the truck, so he grabs her hand, willing her to listen. “Hannah, please, let me take you away from all of this,” he begs, but it’s too late. He can see it in her eyes, in the way she yanks her hand away. (And he understands, he  _ does _ , but that stings more than he cares to admit.) 

“I’m sorry, Nathan,” she whispers, and he has never hated a man more than he hates the Rev right now. 

Before he can try once more to get through to her, the Rev steps out, face drawn. He rarely seems a happy man, but now he’s positively livid, fire burning behind his eyes. “Hannah, get in the truck.” 

She does so without question, without even looking back at Nathan. Her shoulders shake, and he knows she’s crying. What kind of father would do that to his daughter? What kind of man would make his little girl cry? 

“You’re a monster,” he growls, taking a step forward. He has half a mind to rip the man apart, even as he knows he won’t. Not with Hannah watching, anyway. 

The Rev shakes his head. “I’m not the one who’s cursed, Nathan. You are. And I warned you last time to stay away from my daughter.” He raises a brow. “Next time, it won’t be a warning.” 

“Was that a threat?” In the back of his mind, he knows that taunting a man like this alone in the woods is a bad idea. Then again, maybe that’s what he wants. If the Rev attacks him, he can say it’s self-defense. “I’m not afraid of you, old man. You’re nothing but a coward.” 

If this gets out, his father- _ the Chief- _ will be furious. He isn’t altogether sure he cares. 

“I won’t let you infect her with your darkness, son.” He levels Nathan with a stare, then returns to the pickup, closing the door behind him. 

There’s nothing Nathan can do but watch as the Rev tears into Hannah, shouting things he can’t quite make out, and Hannah falls apart. 

He runs all the way home.


	2. Answer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first three days, she’s ashamed enough to stay in her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next installment!

For the first three days, she’s ashamed enough to stay in her room. It’s what he wants from her, right? And she’s not ashamed of Nathan, but she  _ knows  _ how much her father hates him, and surely there are guys out there he’ll approve of. Maybe not as sweet as Nathan, or as thoughtful, or as funny, but… How selfish is she, to pursue one of the few men he expressly warned her away from? 

It’s just… She likes Nathan. Likes the way she feels around him, like she’s  _ alive  _ and anything is possible. 

Like she’s loved.  (It feels ridiculous to even think. Her father has always mocked the idea of highschool love, and they’ve barely graduated. They’re still children, right? But why does the thought of losing Nathan tear her in half? Not that it matters. After the way she treated him, she’ll be lucky if he ever speaks to her again. One good thing in her life, and she pushed him away.) 

She dwells on these thoughts, sneaking downstairs only to get food, until the fourth day. 

It’s starting to get a little ridiculous. He still won’t speak to her when she comes down for food, hasn’t said a word to her since that dressing-down in the truck, and he’ll barely even look at her. It’s not like they were even doing anything that scandalous (this time, although he might still be bitter about prom), just sharing a kiss under the stars. Why is he acting like it’s the most shameful thing in the world?  Okay, she let him down. She disappointed him. But they can move past it.  Right? 

On the fifth day, she decides that enough is enough. She waits until he leaves, then goes down to the kitchen, poking around. He hasn't picked up groceries in awhile, so her options are limited, but she manages to pull together a decent dinner. Then, she starts cleaning. 

By the time he comes home, every room in the house is sparkling, and dinner waits for him at the table.  _ See? I can be a good daughter. You don't have to push me away.  _ (A voice deep in the back of her mind questions why she has to beg her father for acceptance; it sounds a little like Nathan, and she doesn't have a good answer for it.) 

He raises a brow, before sitting at the table, pointedly bowing his head, and saying grace. She lingers, unsure, as he opens his eyes and takes a bite of the food.  Finally, he sighs.  "Sit." 

Not forgiveness, not by a long shot, but she'll take it.  She scrambles into the open chair, nearly tripping over the carpet in her haste to join him. "Dad, I-" 

He raises a hand, effectively cutting off her apology. "We'll talk after dinner," he announces, and she knows better than to argue. 

The air is thick with tension, with memories of words unsaid, and those that would have been better left as such. A thousand questions she doesn’t dare ask tug at her mind, and she bites her tongue. Hard. 

They finish their meals in silence. 

After, she gathers their plates, loads the dishwasher, and settles in, bracing herself for whatever he has to say. Whatever it is, she just wants to get it  _ over  _ with, so they can go back to whatever their normal is. Any amount of lecturing is better than living as a ghost in her own house. 

He reclines in his seat, looking her over, and she forces herself to meet his gaze. He clears his throat, and finally speaks. “I cannot begin to tell you how disappointed in you I am, Hannah. After your last transgression, I gave you a second chance. I trusted you again, and this is how you repaid me. Honestly, I’m at a loss on what to do.” 

_ If you trusted me so much, why were you following me?  _

She knows better than to ask. “I’m sorry,” she says instead, and the words taste like poison on her tongue. Lying is wrong, yes? And what could she possibly be sorry for? For Nathan? She isn’t, not even remotely. But for grieving her father, at least, she truly is remorseful. “I’ve let you down.” 

“That is an understatement.” He grimaces. “It’s bad enough that you sneak away for these… Rendezvous in the dark. But for you to choose that cursed boy is-”

“He’s not cursed,” she blurts before she can stop herself. At the fire in his eyes, she backtracks. “I know that he used to be sick, but he isn’t anymore. Right? I know you don’t like him, but if you’d just give him a chance-”

He cuts her off flatly. “No.” Then, lips curling in open disgust- “Who knows what kind of horrible ideas he’s been putting in your head?” 

Ideas? This throws her, briefly, and makes her wonder exactly how much he heard. “He hasn’t put any horrible ideas in my head,” she tries, feeling her way through this unsteadily. “He was just talking about our future.”

She realizes her mistake a split-second too late. He rises up from his seat without warning, eyes flashing. “ _ Our future?  _ There is no  _ ‘our future.’  _ There is your future, and there is his future; they will not be linked. I won’t stand for it. And your future is right here, helping me, volunteering for the Church, staying away from the cursed scum this town holds.” 

Horror curls inside her. She can picture it; that’s the thing. She can see herself living this life he has planned out for her. It would be so easy to just give in, to not put up a fight. (Wouldn’t that be the right thing? Isn’t that what a  _ good daughter  _ would do?) 

But she feels like she’s suffocating, all of the sudden, faced with the reality of the situation. Because there will be no negotiations, no taking more and more freedom as she grows older and more mature. This is all there is, and all there will ever be, and she  _ can’t.  _

“Yes sir,” she murmurs, dropping his gaze, careful not to let him see the desperation inside her. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Whether he buys her sudden contriteness or not, she isn’t sure, but he apparently decides to accept it. “Very well.” He opens his arms. “Come here.” 

Hugs are all too rare in their home, and normally, she treasures them. Right now, all she can think is that she always has to come to him. Never once has he closed the gap between them, or even met her halfway.

_ He never meets her halfway.  _

“It’s late,” he observes, patting her back, signaling to her that the hug has gone on long enough. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow, you can come back to the Church. I will… Tell them you were unwell. It is close enough to the truth.” 

She obeys, whispering a soft  _ ‘goodnight,’  _ then, as she always does, adds, “I love you, Dad.” 

As always, he doesn’t reply, and deep inside, her decision is made: this will be her last night living like this. 

She cuts her music up, deliberately a few notches louder than he likes, knowing he won’t complain. Their argument has worn him out, and he’ll be too exhausted to start another one. This gives her the perfect cover she needs to pack. 

Clothes are easy; she grabs a few outfits off the hangers, and drops them in a bag. Jewelry, she doesn’t bother with, aside from a pin her mother left her, and two silver rings littered with gems. They are, she reasons, probably worth a little money.

The rest is harder. 

She cannot bring all of the journals she has kept over the years, and her heart aches at the idea of leaving any of them behind. It’s almost enough to stop her in her tracks. She traces the cover of one from seventh grade, full of ramblings about her favorite music and the cute guy who sat in front of her during math class. Losing them would be bad enough, but she knows what will happen when she disappears: her father will tear her room apart looking for clues, and he will inevitably find her journals. 

In the end, she grabs two: her current volume, half-filled with the aches and pains of senior year, and the one from the year her mother died. The rest, she leaves in a shoebox, tucked safely underneath a loose floorboard. She can almost fool herself into believing they will stay there. 

Books, too, present a challenge: they have long been her escape from the world around her, from the daily loneliness and misery, and she doesn’t want to lose them all. Her bag is almost full, though, and she still needs to grab toiletries. She settles on three books: A ratty paperback Agatha Christie, a worn copy of  _ “Jane Eyre,”  _ and-after a split second of indecision-her Bible. She bypasses the fancy leather one, pulling out the marked-up NIV her mother bought her so many years before. 

She doesn’t have many photographs, and none of her mother. Her father has some, but she doesn’t relish the idea of sneaking into her father’s room to raid the albums. At the very least, she has the photo booth set of her and Nathan at the mall, a week before prom. She tucks it between the pages of her Bible, and moves on. 

Finally, there is the issue of money. Her father never lets her keep any money she earns, and he rarely lets her work, so she only has forty dollars and a Walmart gift card to her name. It’s not enough, not by a long shot, and she can only hope Nathan has a plan.  (When does he not have a plan? He has a lot saved up, she knows, but it’s supposed to go to college, not running away like this.) 

She cuts off her music around 2, then waits until after 4, just to be safe. Lingers in the doorway for a long moment, mind racing in all directions, chest impossibly tight. Something inside her screams that she can’t do this, that it’s _ wrong,  _ and she’s a horrible person for even considering it. Another part of her thinks it’s pointless; she and Nathan can whisper under the stars all they like, but that does not mean he’s serious. 

The loudest part of her, though, knows this is her last chance. She has to choose who she is, and who she isn’t. She cannot be what her father demands. She cannot live in his shadow for one more day. 

That thought firmly in mind, she steps through the door. 

Once she starts, she doesn’t let herself stop; not to think, or doubt, or even breathe. She just runs, feet aching from the pressure, until the whole world fades away. There is no Haven, no father, no unwanted destiny. There’s just the ground, Nathan, and her. 

Nathan’s house is locked, of course. She stands outside for a long time, debating her next step. She could knock, but if Chief Wuornos sends her home, or worse, calls her father, this will be all for nothing. Besides, he probably won’t be in favor of this plan at all. 

(A twinge of guilt hits her. Nathan and his father have always had a complicated relationship, but both are good men, and with enough time, they’ll probably work it out. Does she have any right to ask Nathan to give that up, just for her?) 

It is too late to back out, so she settles for an old cliche: hurling pebbles up against the window on the second floor, hoping desperately that it wakes Nathan and not the Chief. Seconds tick by, before the curtain opens, and a familiar silhouette peers down. 

_ Nathan.  _

She cannot help but smile at his baffled expression, and holds up her bag, willing him to understand. When he does, his eyes widen, any trace of sleep vanishing from them in an instant. He stares down at her, apparently stunned, and lets the curtain fall shut. 

_ Now what?  _

She debates grabbing more pebbles, but that seems pointless, now. He knows she’s here. The only person she might wake is the Chief, and that would, as already established, be bad. It’s not too late to go home, to sneak back into her house and hide under the covers, but going backward is a suffocating idea just at the moment. 

For a second, she toys with the idea of running forward on her own. Of hitchhiking somewhere far away, and starting over. Not like she could afford it, though, and the thought of leaving Nathan behind-

It hits her, suddenly, why he has decided to ignore her: The last time they saw each other. The cruelty of her father. The way she just let him talk, not even trying to defend Nathan. She’ll be lucky if he ever speaks to her again; running away together is definitely off the table. 

She thinks she might be sick. 

Just as she’s about to sink to the ground in despair, the door clicks open, and a familiar figure steps through the door. 

“You’re here,” he breathes, staring at her as though she might be a dream. Not a hint of hurt, or anger, as justified as those would be. Distantly, she registers the bag in his hand; when did he have time to pack? “Wasn’t sure…”

“I know,” she interrupts, because she can’t stand the thought of hearing him say it.  _ I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again.  _ “I’m sorry. I should have said something to my father. I was just-”

“Not your fault.” For all his quiet edges, there’s a fire inside him. She rarely sees it, but it’s out now in full force. “His. You don’t…” He nods to the bag in her hand. “Don’t have to do this t’... Make up for it.”

Her heart shatters on the spot. “I’m not,” she assures him, desperately hoping that she sounds at least half as sure as she feels. “I’m doing this because I want to.” She can count on one hand the number of things she has done for that reason, and most of them center around Nathan. He somehow draws that out in her, that determination to trust her own gut. Her own wishes. 

Wide-eyed, he studies her, maybe searching for a hint of hesitation. She opens her mouth to reassure him, but pauses.  _ What if this won’t reassure him? What if this isn’t what he wants?  _ It seems ridiculous to even think, but if he changed his mind, well… She could hardly blame him. He has a life ahead of him: college, for starters, and a job waiting for him when he graduates. 

She almost can’t force the next words from her throat, but she pushes through, because he needs to know. “But if you don’t want this anymore-”

Suddenly, his arms are around her, and her face is pressed against his faded tee. When did he step forward? She isn’t sure, but she makes no move to pull away. 

“Want this,” he whispers against her hair, but he’s shaking. “Want to take you away from all this. Want to  _ get  _ away from all of this. But-”  _ No buts, please no buts, she has come too far to back out now-  _ “Friend’s already gone. Took his boat, too.” 

The unfairness of it all threatens to suffocate her, for a second. He’s ready and willing; so is she. They could finally leave every twisted shadow of this town behind, and they would, if not for a lack of transportation? It’s such a ridiculously small thing, to throw off such a momentous decision. 

“I-I understand-” she tries, but she cannot coax out another word.

Apparently, she doesn't need to; in the next instant, he sighs. She feels it as much as hears it, his whole body almost slumping into hers. His voice is low, somewhere close to resigned, when he mutters, “But I have an idea.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's his plan? We shall see. Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on birthdates: If you are a die-hard Haven fan, you might notice that Nathan's birthday is incorrect in this. When I was writing it, I didn't remember that his birthday had already been established, and I made him having a July birthday a fairly important plot point. Rather than try to figure out how to make this make sense with a December birthday, I decided to ask you all to try to suspend disbelief on this tiny little detail.

“Duke Crocker?” She scoffs. “That’s your idea?”

Which, okay, fair. Not like he and Duke have been on the best of terms, lately. But it’s-they were friends, once, and that has to count for something. Besides, Nathan has money, right? And when has Duke ever turned down money? And Duke’s leaving  _ anyway,  _ so it’s not like Nathan’s asking him to make an extra trip.  Just… Clear a couple of seats in his pickup. That’s all. Surely, Nathan can pay him enough for that. 

That is, of course, if Duke would hurry up and wake  _ up.  _

They’ve pounded on his door, and if it has as much as unsettled his sleep, he hasn’t given a single indication of it. His lights are off, (which makes sense, of course; it’s nearly 6 AM. But still, if he’d  _ pay attention,  _ that would be great,) and they haven’t heard any noise coming from inside. 

Belatedly, Nathan realizes that Duke might not be entirely sober, which would definitely be inconvenient, for any number of reasons. Hungover Duke would probably be a lot less cooperative than Normal Duke, which is saying something, and besides, Hannah might not be her father, but still… Bringing the preacher’s daughter to a hungover smuggler for help just seems like a bad idea. 

Really, all of this is probably a bad idea. 

Running away would be tricky enough with time and planning, but this? Sneaking out with only a go-bag, not even taking the time to say goodbye first? Vanishing into the night? It’s nothing like him, and part of him worries that he’ll regret it before long.

The larger part of him steals a glance at Hannah, lingering on her haunted, determined expression. Whatever happened with the Rev, it was enough to break her, to push her over the edge one way or the other. If they don’t leave town soon, something tells him she might never be free.

She deserves to be free.

She clears her throat, and he realizes that he never actually answered her question.

“Yes,” he replies, proud of himself for keeping his voice mostly even. “Duke is my idea.” He gives the door one last rap for emphasis. 

“You know,” a familiar voice cuts in, and Nathan freezes. “I’m not sure what you guys think you’re doing here, but this isn’t exactly your kind of neighborhood.” He steps out from the shadows, giving a careless shrug. “Not like I’m telling you how to live your life, but… It isn’t safe here.”

That could be a threat. It could also just be Duke, and Nathan is far too tired-and desperate-to try to figure out which one it is. “We’ll be fine.” He has to make a conscious effort to keep familiar hostilities out of his town when he adds, “Just hoping for a lift. You’re still leaving, right?” 

Duke’s eyes flicker in something like  _ interest.  _ “So the Golden Boy and Little Miss Perfect are running away together? Not exactly going to fit with your images, you know?” 

No, it won’t, and Nathan desperately wishes that didn’t bother him as much as it does. In a few hours, everyone will know that he has walked away from everything he has been working toward since childhood. And it’s-it’s fine, really; he wants this, more than anything. But all he can picture is the Chief’s face. He’ll be so disappointed, and Nathan won’t even be able to tell him-won’t be able to explain- 

“I have money,” he grits out, mostly to change the subject. “And we can go wherever. We just want out.” 

Hannah’s eyes dart to his, concerned, and he offers her a reassuring smile. It reassures him, too; this will be worth it, no matter how hard it is. Anything to get her away from the nightmare that is the Rev. 

Duke still seems  _ thrown,  _ as if he physically cannot comprehend the idea of them ‘going rogue’ in any way, shape, or form. “Right, but… Shouldn’t you be getting ready for college? That’s still a thing, right?” 

Probably not anymore. How would that even work? He can’t exactly hide Hannah in his dorm, and besides, their fathers will definitely check there first. “We’ll figure stuff out. Not asking your  _ permission,  _ Crocker.” As if Duke has any right to lecture him about life choices, after everything. “Just asking for a lift.” 

Duke’s expression hardens inexplicably. “Right. How much?”

Nathan pauses. Blinks, trying to track back the conversation. “How much…?”

A scoff. “Oh, I don’t know, Nathan. What could I possibly be talking about? How much  _ money,  _ genius?” 

Well, that much sarcasm is… Entirely unnecessary. “Twenty.” Not like that’s going to fly, but money  _ is  _ tight, and he’s done enough business with Duke to know to start the bidding low. 

Duke rolls his eyes. “Yeah, unless we’re talking grand, that’s not going to work for me. I’m thinking more like… A thousand.” 

Not happening. He has some money saved up, but not enough to drop a grand on a ride. That’s fine, though; Duke’s just bidding high. “A hundred?” 

Hannah draws in a sharp breath beside him, he opens his mouth to reassure her that it’ll be fine, that they’ll get it worked out, when he notices what she’s watching: Headlights move down the road, drawing steadily closer to them.  _ The Rev’s  _ headlights, he realizes, and panic surges in him. 

“Five hundred,” he blurts, which is way higher than he means to bid, but they’re out of time, and he’s not about to let this opportunity slip through his grasp. (Not about to let Hannah slip through his grasp; not again.) 

Duke blinks, glancing between them. “You do know it was my turn to-”

_ “Please,”  _ Nathan interrupts, only half mortified by the fact that he’s basically begging Duke for help. Later, maybe, when he has time to stop and breathe, the full embarrassment of it all will hit. For now, though, there is only quickly-fading hope. 

For the first time, Duke notices the headlights. He instantly steps back, shaking his head. “Yeah, no. I’m not getting in the middle of whatever Shakespearean family drama they’ve dragged you into, Nate. Call someone else.” 

He’s about to argue when Hannah pushes past him, catching Duke’s arm.  _ “Please,  _ Duke,” she whispers, and Nathan can hardly make out their voices. “I don’t want to stay here. I don’t want to turn into my father.” 

He blinks, then  _ groans,  _ eyes falling shut. “Are you eighteen?” He checks, and she nods. “Good. Both of you, get inside. Lock the door, and don’t open it for anyone. I have the key.” 

Nathan opens his mouth to muster a thank you, but Duke scowls at him, and he bites it back.  _ Fine then.  _ He ushers Hannah inside, flicking the lock shut just in time. Outside, a door slams, and a booming voice fills the air. 

“Where is she, Crocker?" The Rev growls, and Hannah winces, closing her eyes. Nathan moves on instinct, drawing her to his chest (once again; it's quickly becoming one of his favorite things in the world. He just wishes it didn't always mean she was upset), and pressing his forehead to her hair.  _ I won't let him take you,  _ he silently promises, willing her to relax.  _ He won't get to us.  _

Her fingers curl into his shirt, and she takes measured breaths, trembling from head to toe. The Rev better not come through that door, he decides. Because if he has to, he'll fight. 

"Who?" Duke's voice is utterly carefree, and Nathan can almost imagine his shrug. "Got a lot of girls that come through here, so you'll have to be specific." 

Nathan cannot help but roll his eyes at that, because of _course_ that's what Duke goes with. Hannah giggles, and some of the irritation fades, because anything that makes her happy can't be all bad. 

The Rev actually growls, and Hannah stiffens, any humor vanishing in an instant. “Not playing games, Crocker. Where’s my daughter?” 

“Your daughter?” He pauses for a moment. “Oh, right! Pretty brunette, kind of mousy-” Hannah narrows her eyes. “Really quiet. Have you checked with Nathan? She’s more his type. Me, I go for girls that are a little more… Daring.” 

“Last chance. Tell me where she is, or I’ll go get her myself.” 

“What are you going to do, exactly?” Duke’s voice is surprisingly even. “I mean, I’m not saying she’s anywhere near here, but if she was, you probably couldn’t legally get to her.” 

Smooth, Nathan has to admit, albeit reluctantly. Although it’s a bit of a gamble. Bringing the Chief in would just make things a thousand times worse. Hopefully it won’t come to that; the Rev isn’t exactly the sort to want to cause a fuss. At least not one that could put  _ him  _ in the hot seat, as opposed to whoever his latest enemy is. 

“If you want it to come to that, I’m happy to have you arrested for kidnapping,” the Rev warns, and Nathan understands the genius of Duke’s earlier question a split-second before Duke speaks. 

“Yeah, about that… I’ve heard through the grapevine that she’s eighteen. Now, if she  _ were  _ around here-and I’m not saying she is-it would probably be willingly. And at eighteen…” Nathan can almost picture his carefree shrug. “She’s old enough to make that choice. So… Not kidnapping.” 

Luckily, he didn’t ask how old Nathan was. It’s not like Nathan’s a  _ kid,  _ by any means, but his birthday isn’t for another few months, so if Duke is lawyering his way through this, there’s definitely a flaw in his logic. 

Honestly, Nathan’s more surprised than he should be that Duke doesn’t remember his birthday. In spite of everything, he’s been at more of Nathan’s parties than he’s missed, and Nathan still has Duke’s birthdate drilled into his memory. Still has a present tucked in the back of his closet for him, actually. Not that he’s ever going to give it to him, especially  _ now,  _ but still. That counts for something, right? 

“She may be eighteen,” the Rev warns, “but that scoundrel she’s in there with isn’t.” 

Great. There goes that. Nathan draws in a breath, bracing himself. “If it comes down to it, run,” he whispers, pressing his wallet into her palm. She shakes her head, but he’s not about to let that horrible man get his hands on her ever again. “Promise me.” 

Her eyes fall shut, tears trickling down, but she nods. “Promise.” 

Outside, Duke laughs. “No, actually. Nathan’s birthday is June 14th, which means- _ wait-”  _ Hey, at least he got the date right, Nathan muses, half-amused in spite of everything. “It’s  _ July _ 14th, isn’t it?” He sounds impossibly tired, and more than a little annoyed. “Thanks for that, Nate.” 

“Not my fault,” he mutters, and Hannah giggles weakly. 

“It is indeed,” the Rev agrees. “And look at that; Chief Wuornos is on his way now.” Nathan freezes, terror washing over him. “I’m sure he’s in a wonderful mood. He likes you, right?” 

Clearly rhetorical; the Chief has hardly spared a kind word toward Duke since the tack incident. This, here, is the last thing he needs. Unexpectedly, a twinge of guilt hits Nathan. Duke’s actually  _ trying  _ to help them, after all. And now he’s going to get arrested for it. 

A car door slams, and a familiar voice fills the air. “What, exactly, is going on here?”

“Chief Wuornos.” Duke’s voice  _ shakes,  _ but he still manages to turn on the flattery. “Good to see you, sir. Looks like you’re doing well. New suit?”

“No,” he answers shortly, and Nathan doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Now, where’s my son?”

“Nathan is in there,” the Rev answers, “with my little girl. This miscreant is hiding them.” 

Duke sputters in offense, but it’s half-hearted at best; he’s clearly terrified. Not that Nathan can blame him. He’s pretty terrified himself, at the moment. 

“I see.” The Chief is quiet for a long moment. “Nathan, are you okay?" 

Nathan swallows. "I'm fine, Dad. This is what I need to do." If he tries to argue-if he scolds Nathan, or orders him to come back-Nathan's not altogether sure what he'll do. But Nathan can't back down. Not now. 

"I see.” He sounds impossibly disappointed, and Nathan’s chest tightens. He and his father may not always agree, but the last thing he wants to do is  _ let him down.  _ It’s just-it’s  _ Hannah,  _ and he  _ loves  _ her, and- “Okay then.” 

Wait, what?

“I beg your pardon?” The Rev asks, which Nathan thinks just adds up to exactly what he was thinking, but sounds maybe two percent more dignified. 

The Chief sighs. “Well, I’m not gonna break the door down, Ed. I came here to make sure Nathan was okay. Sounds like he is.” 

“They’re throwing their lives away!”

“I agree.” And doesn’t that just  _ sting?  _ Nathan flinches, holding Hannah just a little bit tighter. Her hand comes up to rest against his cheek, steadying him. “But it’s their lives. If that’s what they want to do, I’m not gonna stop ‘em. And neither are you.” 

His voice is thick with a warning that no one would dare ignore. After a few seconds of angry sputtering, the Rev’s voice fades, as does the Chief’s. A couple of car door slams later, and the front door opens. Duke steps inside, quickly shutting it behind him. 

“They’re gone,” he says, unnecessarily. “But I’m not too keen on sticking around to see if they change their minds. You guys got your stuff?”

Nathan nods, holding up his bag, and Hannah follows suit. Duke’s brows hit his hairline. 

“That’s  _ it?  _ What, exactly, is your plan?” 

“We’ll figure it out,” Nathan mutters, trying to keep his voice even. He owes Duke, after all; putting himself on the line for them like that? Way above and beyond, especially considering how tense things have been between them. “How much is it gonna cost?”

Duke stares for several seconds, then laughs, a resigned and bitter sound that Nathan can’t quite place. “Keep your money, Nate. Trust me; you’ll need it.” 

The words are in English, Nathan is quite sure, but they don’t make sense. It almost sounds like Duke is offering to give them a ride for free, which of course isn’t possible. He wouldn’t  _ do  _ that. That’s not Duke.

Except, apparently, Hannah has decided that it is. She untangles herself from Nathan and launches herself forward, wrapping her arms around a very startled Duke. The poor guy flails, stumbling back a half-step, and awkwardly pats her back. It’s too hilarious for Nathan to even be annoyed. 

_ “Thank you,”  _ Hannah breathes, and Duke jerks his head once. 

“Yeah, yeah, just… Just get in the truck, okay?” 

With a laugh, she releases him, and nods. “Okay. Let’s go, Nathan!” And honestly, she looks too happy for Nathan to protest.

-

This is happening. It’s  _ actually happening.  _

She and Nathan are actually getting to leave Haven behind, exchanging dark corners and harsh whispers for the freedom of a world that doesn’t know them, yet. And they’ll get to start out with every dime they own, because apparently  _ Duke Crocker  _ is transporting them for free, and isn’t that a shock? 

Admittedly, she had her concerns about going to him, but she can’t forget that look in his eyes when she told him she didn’t want to be like her father. That was more than sympathy, or compassion. It was  _ understanding.  _ It was like looking in a mirror, for crying out loud. (Not that  _ that  _ is entirely surprising.) 

She steals a glance at Nathan in the rearview mirror, and he smiles uncertainly in reply. Not for the first time, she hopes he doesn’t regret this; he has such a wonderful world of opportunities, and she-

“Stop it.” Duke’s voice is low, and she wonders if Nathan can even hear him. He’s smirking, but there’s a serious edge to his words. “Trust me, you’re way past the point of overthinking things. Now, you’re just  _ doing it. _ So enjoy it.” 

“I just-” Another glance, but Nathan’s eyes have fluttered shut. Apparently, exhaustion is starting to hit him. “I don’t want him to hate me.” 

He hums. “Well, if he does, I just want you to know that I’m single,” he tells her, and his voice is so serious that it takes her a second to realize it’s a joke. When she laughs, his expression softens, and he grins. “Seriously, though, don’t worry about it. I mean, this? Nathan doesn’t do stuff like this. But he did it, you know? For you.” He gives a one-shoulder shrug. “Pretty sure he doesn’t hate you. He’s just gonna need some time to get used to everything.” 

She wants to believe him, she does, but guilt won’t stop curling around her gut, suffocating her, reminding her of everything Nathan is giving up for her. “I hope you’re right.” 

“I know I am,” he says, surprisingly gentle. Then, with a smirk- “I’m always right, Hannah. Keep up.” 

A retort is on the tip of her tongue before she can stop it. “Except when you forgot Nathan’s birthday, right?” He rolls his eyes, and she grins. “I think he actually pouted a little.” 

“World’s smallest violin,” he mutters, and she wants to ask more. Wants to ask him what  _ happened  _ between them, that took them from practically brothers to worst enemies. Wants to ask why he makes fun of Nathan at every turn, but is still willing to give him a free ride out of town. Wants to ask about the tacks. But he is being  _ kind  _ to them, and she will not push. 

Instead, she settles back in the seat, leaning against the window. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.” 

He doesn’t respond for a long moment. Then- “Get some sleep. We’ve got a long road ahead of us.” Somehow, she doesn’t think he’s just talking about the drive. “I’ll wake you up when we stop for gas.” 

For the first time in months, she sleeps peacefully. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, does it work out for them? Two percent of a plan, Nathan's college savings, a couple of bags, and a Walmart gift card? That's up to interpretation. Maybe it does work out. Maybe they end up having to go back in defeat. Maybe a kind stranger takes them in. Maybe Nathan ends up joining a covert military organization that does testing on soldiers. You never know. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!


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